The Girl in Question
by SafireBlade
Summary: AU, Set in Season four set after the Gentlemen episode. Buffy is declared dead after the police find a mutilated dead girl behind the Bronze. Angel and the Scoobies are out for blood looking for Buffy's killer while Spike refuses to acknowledge she is dead. Will they work together to find the truth of the tragedy?
1. Dumpster Chick

**Disclaimer:** BTVS and all likeness shown in this story is the property of Joss Whedon. I don't own anything.

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**The Girl in Question**

Dumpster Chick

Prologue

To an outside observer, the acid washed, dead girl, lying in the dumpster among the rotting and discarded food behind the Bronze, was Buffy Anne Summers the Vampire Slayer. Though the girl in question shared the same long, sun kissed hair and honey skin as the bubbly blonde Slayer that always appeared in the back allies of Sunnydale, with a quip on her soft supple lips and a stake in her delicate hands, the dead girl was not Buffy. In fact if the investigators were honest about the poor mutilated thing, that looked as if she had been soaking in a bath of hydrofluoric acid for a day in a half, they would never have made the fatal call to the parents of Buffy Summers.

The Sunnydale Police Department had conducted a small investigation. Though the Department's skills in deductive-reasoning are not to be admired, the mistaken I.D. was a realistic one for their Jane Doe. After all, the investigators had found Buffy's student I.D. around the dumpsters where Jane Doe was found. Then when the ghoulish Coroner had matched the dental records of the former cheerleader to his Jane Doe; it seemed like a no brainer that the girl in question was Buffy Summers. No one in the department had given the mistaken I.D. a second thought until they notified the family.

The loud ring of the Summers' family home phone disrupted Joyce Summers' daytime soaps. Quickly muting the TV and picking up the phone she was greeted with news of her daughter's death. Joyce, graceful in her actions, had questioned the department. She believed the situation had been a huge mistake at first. However once the department explained about the dental records, Joyce had become quiet. Buffy had not been around Revello drive in some time. Horrified by the realistic possibility of her only child's death; she hung up the phone with a, "Thank you Mr. Cleves, I'll be there shortly."

Joyce sat on the sofa, staring out the window of her colonial home. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining; it wasn't too hot or cold and the only sound that could be heard was the soft chirping of the little blue bird outside. The woman who handled all things with poise and elegance, including her messy divorce, was not sure how to behave. In her daughter's line of work, it was always possible that one night her daughter would never make it home. It had been that knowledge that kept Joyce awake at night. Now that Joyce's worst fear had come to pass. She was at a loss. The strong matriarch had expected herself to feel an unstoppable rage or an all-consuming sorrow but none of that was there. Something far worse crept inside of her and took hold of her emotions. That niggling feeling deep in her subconscious pushed and scrapped forward demanding to be heard. That simple and unseemly emotion was relief. The worse thing that could possibly happen to Joyce was over. Buffy was dead.

Tear's stung Joyce's green eyes as she imagined the coming days clearly. She saw the funeral play out. Joyce would listen to her daughter's friends, Willow and Xander, pay their respects while she sobbed. Joyce could even see her daughter's Watcher Rupert Giles helping her during this time of grieving. He would stand there at the funeral acting as if he were Buffy's father. At the thought of the middle-aged man in tweed, Joyce's felt something shift inside of her. The unstoppable rage Joyce had been waiting for came flowing into her, forcing her off the sofa and onward to the Watcher's apartment.

Rupert Giles, known by his friend as just Giles, had been Buffy's Watcher for four years, until he had been fired from the Watcher's Counsel for his fatherly loved toward his young charge. Nevertheless, out of a sense of habit Giles kept playing Watcher with his slayer. He kept an account of her nightly patrols. It had been from the former Watchers notes that he had found that Buffy's nightly hunts had become considerably less harrowing. The never-ending demon population was disappearing. The Watcher in Giles wanted to question why the demons of the hellmouth were vanishing but the love for his slayer prevented him from looking any further at the situation. In Giles' mind the weakening demon population could only be a good thing for Buffy.

Only, Buffy hadn't seen the situation that way. Her slayer instinct screamed that if demons were afraid of whatever _big bad_ was out there than it needed to be dealt with. Buffy had become more resolute in her investigation of the vanishing demons after she had ran in to a militarized group of demon hunters. The group nearly captured a friend of the slayer, Oz, during his werewolf act. The small platoon of men had drugged Oz with tranquilizer darts in order to pacify him, but before the group could disappear with Oz, Buffy single handedly disable the platoon with a few kicks and punches. Subsequently Oz left town, ending his relationship with the Slayer's team and his girlfriend Willow.

All the Slayer's investigations into the group's activities had turned up nothing. That was until a result of the group's handy work had managed to let loose a bleach blonde menace by the name of Spike. Metaphorically fangless, starving, and unsure of his next move, Spike went to the one person he knew could help, the Slayer. Reluctantly Buffy had agreed to help Spike in trade for information about the organization that held him hostage. In Giles' role as pseudo watcher, he played nursemaid to the vampire for Buffy, so they could get information out of him. It had been during the Watchers interrogation of the vampire when a violent knocking shook Giles' focus. In an attempt to play bad cop Giles hissed to his witness, "Don't move, we're not finished."

Spike rolled his eyes at the Watcher's command, responding to the request by leaning back in his chair and placing his feet on the coffee table. He grumbled under his breath before he grabbed the cup of cooling pigs blood from the table, "Where in the bloody hell am I gonna go?" Taking a sip of blood Spike grimaced at the taste that seem to remind him of rotting eggs. He clenched his jaw trying not to think of how far he had fallen from his days as the _big bad_ and pretended the blood was something sweeter, like the Slayer.

Spike couldn't help it as memories from his false engagement with the Slayer came to the front of his mind as he sipped the rancid blood. There were times where Spike could still feel her warmth on his lap as her sweet tongue darted into his mouth bashfully while he held her lovingly. Spike growled at his own traitorous memory about his mortal enemy. The vampire inwardly cursed Willow's spell that made him and the Slayer act all love-y dove-y to each other as he broke another one of Giles' mugs.

Meanwhile Giles opened the door with an unshakable foreboding at the sight of Joyce. A heaviness filled the air as an enraged Joyce stood in front of the Watcher with a tear stained face. Before Giles could ask Joyce what the matter was, he was silenced by a stinging smack of a slap. The Watcher held his face, wincing from the blow as Joyce's voice became something low and dangerous. "She died because of you and that stupid counsel!"

Giles' nearly doubled over at the accusation as panic filled his gut. He wordlessly invited Joyce inside, suddenly filled with the desire to start drinking. Moved only by the cold rage, Joyce stepped into the two-story townhouse. Instantly she noticed the vampire sitting smugly in an arm chair, drinking blood out of a broken mug. Green eyes threaten to burn Spike alive so he dropped the smug pretense he had adopted after overhearing the news of the slayer's death.

Giles shut the door, his voice a little more than a whisper, "What happened?" The simple question made Joyce melt into a crumbled mass of tears. He guided Joyce to the sofa next to Spike's chair; before heading to the kitchen to make a call to Buffy and Willow's dorm room. No answer came and Giles felt his throat go dry. He redialed the number five times, before giving up and dialing Xander's home number. A slurred male voice answered, "Herro?"

Giles greeted the man with a curt tone, "I need to speak to Xander Harris. Is he available?" Giles' kept an eye on the living room as Joyce started to regain her composer. Before Giles' knew it, all the anger Joyce had reserved for him was redirected toward the bleach blonde who made the mistake of glancing at her.

Giles tuned out the frantic shouting, instead focusing only on the grumbling man he was dealing with. "Yoush hish boss… hold on, hish lazy ash is sleepin."

Impatiently, Giles cleaned his glasses, waiting for Xander to answer.

As the Watcher waited he had a chance to listen into Joyce's frantic yelling, "Did you do it?"

Spike looked around comically as Joyce gave a bone shriveling stare he thought only the Slayer could deliver. "Do what?" Spike quirked an eyebrow, pretending not to know what she was talking about. His baritone voice filled with sardonic mirth, "Spill blood on the carpet? Knick some dosh from ol' Rup's wallet? Oh I got it now, I ate the last of the bloody Wheat Thins? Seriously, what do you think I did again? Because if it's out of this flat, it couldn't have been me."

Joyce hissed, "Did. You. Kill. My. Baby?" Fresh tears sprung from Joyce's green eyes.

Spike bit his lip awkwardly not knowing what to say or do. Joyce always reminded Spike of his mother just a bit. Suddenly, seeing her cry, the comparison between Joyce and his own mother was firmly implanted in his mind. Guilt pecked at Spike and soon he mutters out an apology.

Only Joyce was lost in her own world, reliving the conversation at the morgue with Mr. Cleves. She had stupidly gone there before Giles' place. She needed to know if it was the truth, so she went to confirm the police's I.D. Hysterically Joyce wailed to Spike, "You did… didn't you? You killed her and then tossed her away like she was nothing." Joyce covered her face with her hands not wanting the vampire that threatened to kill her daughter so many times to see her like this.

Many things Spike dreamed of doing to Buffy Summers during their final battle but he would never just toss her away like nothing. Biting back his witty retort he shook his head and called for Giles. "Rupert!" The Watcher glared at Spike as he waited for the phone to be picked up.

Xander finally answered his phone and yawned, "Hello?"

Giles cleaned his glasses and began, "Are you with Buffy and Willow?"

Xander looked at his sofa, complete with Willow and Anya watching TV and eating popcorn but it had no Buffy. "I have Wills but no Buffster. What's going on?"

Willow turned off the TV and jumped to her feet, making her way to the phone. Buffy had not been in class all day and Willow started to wonder if she even came home last night after she wrapped up the trouble with the Gentlemen.

Giles slipped seamlessly into his Watcher mode. He reported on the facts without feeling them as he was trained to do for most of his life, "There's been some trouble with Buffy."

Xander was silent for a long time. Willow touched his shoulder, creeping beside him so she could hear the other line. Xander's voice had been small and little more than a squeak, "Is she okay?"

Giles didn't answer, "Xander… please just come over and watch Spike while I'm out."

His lack of response spoke louder than any words could.

Xander bit his tongue, "Okay... we'll be over there in ten minutes."

Giles hung up the phone with a farewell and strolled over to the sofa where Joyce was crying. Giles soften his tone, "I know this is painful. But I need—"

Joyce sprung to her feet as soon as the Watcher sat beside her. The whirling changes of Joyce's emotion slammed into Giles. She stared down at the Watcher with all the disgust she could muster, "_You need!?_ No! You need nothing more from me. You and your counsel are the reason why she is dead." Hating Giles at that moment she retold the hellish day she had between sobs. "The police called me and… they told me they found... they found Buffy… behind the Bronze this morning and...and they, wanted me... to come down..." Joyce could see it all in her head. The rotting girl on the table, cold and lifeless, with every inch of her body covered in chemical burns that peeled away the flesh. "I could barely recognize her! There were these burns all over her, in some places... the burns were so bad you could see bone sticking out. I thought she wasn't mine at first... I was hoping she was here. But she's not because she's in the morgue and I saw her. It all fits..." The story came tumbling out of her like a rockslide taking the last of her anger with it. It rolled over the two men leaving them speechless.

During Joyce's speech Spike played the Slayer's last battle in his head. He saw Buffy fighting a faceless opponent. She would dodge every blow with a quick quip punctuated with a blow of her own. Until her opponent got the upper hand. It would only take one mistake and the reign of the Slayer was over. He desperately needed a breath, as something crawled into him. It was something Spike hadn't felt since Drusilla was attacked by that mob in Prague. He identified the familiar ache as panic. "No." Spike hissed at himself, thereby earning a confused look from the two humans that had forgotten he was there. He shook his head writing off the panic as something else like regret. Buffy and Spike would never get their final battle. Worst of all, in Spike's mind, Buffy's last memory of him would be that he was a neutered vampire living in her Watcher's flat, unable to protect himself. The idea made his heart break. "No, this can't be how it ends." He held on to the denial.

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A/N

I would love to give a thanks to my lovely new Beta Andrew'sAmy who went through this prologue. :D

Please follow or Favorite if you enjoy the story. Plus reviews are always nice.


	2. Snake, Snail and Vampire Tales

**Snake, Snail and Vampire Tales **

Chapter one

The Scoobies had been swallowed up by the death of the Slayer and then spat out in different directions.

Giles had slipped into watcher mode with a simple process of intellectualizing Buffy's death while he consuming countless tumblers of scotch. The process had only served to further infuriate the young people in his life. Unwittingly, Giles had begun to isolate himself from his other young charges that needed their father figure more now than ever.

Willow and Xander watched as Giles busied himself by making calls to the Council and his other worldly contacts for assistance in finding Buffy's killer. When that had failed Giles pulled out every demonology book he owned, sprawled out across his flat like some kind of map in a search for a particular species of demon or infected creature that could've created the injuries that Buffy had sustained during her final battle. His search revealed two possibilities: a Zeemeermin, which was a fish like demon, and a Changeling, which was a humanoid demon that resembled a small, child like creature. Both demons have a toxic coating they spray upon the targeted victim. After dispatching their spray onto the victim with a corrosive substance, they shrivel up and die. However, the more the Watcher read over the profile of the Zeemeermin demon, the less likely that it was the actual killer. Next, Giles decided that it had to be the Changeling demon that was responsible for Buffy's death. Then upon continued research over the description of the Changeling's pattern of attack, Giles' certainty of the creature's guilt waned. Changelings used their childlike form to trick humans into taking them in. Once they had the humans in their grasp they would suck the human's life force out before they spewed yellowish acid to dispose of their prey. The acid that burned Buffy had been clear and her current cause of death was a snapped neck. Disgruntled with lack of success in locating the killer, Giles handed over the case to Angel Investigations.

In contrast, Xander ran around like he was the lead detective in a Raymond Chandler novel. When the boy first heard of the murder he had raced off to _Willy's__Place _to pump the owner, Willy the Snitch, for information on the cruel death of his longtime friend. Arriving at the dive bar, Xander found the place boarded up and shut down. Not one to give up, Xander found himself wandering around the less-than-human) parts of Sunnydale, which had become eerily empty, lacking its colorful inhabitants. Little did he know, Xander was looking for answers to questions that no one in the demonic community wanted to touch with a ten foot broomstick on the other side of a deep moat, filled with acid infested water that contained demon-eating eels. This fact, paired with Xander's glib attitude and overall rashness, had caused him to get pummeled by many different species of creatures.

Countless times since Angel's return to town, the brooding vampire had to stop his investigation to save Xander from almost certain death. The night before the Buffy's funeral Angel had almost decided to let the young male scooby meet his unfortunate end at the hands of a Jikininki demon. However, that nagging soul of Angel's refused to let that happen. The heroic rescue only served to exacerbate the growing tension between the two posturing men. Before Angel lost his temper completely he dragged the black and blue Xander to Giles' apartment so the Watcher could handle the hotheaded boy with Anya on his heels.

In the apartment that turned into the Scooby's base of operations Willow had been hacking into police reports involving Buffy's death, but the red-headed witch could not bring herself to read any of it. Every time Willow would start a sentence her eyes would blur and tears would swell, threatening to fall.

Spike rolled his eyes at the scene before stepping behind her, "Come on Red, why don't you call it a night. I'll give it a go." Willow looked up from the computer, her eyes still swollen with sorrow. She squeaked a quiet and far away 'okay' as she fled from the chair. Spike sat down. "So what am I lookin' for?" He glance through the files not really caring what it said. He already knew the girl they were going to burry was not the Slayer, but no one was listening to him.

The vampire had even gone as far as the morgue to prove his point. The trip to the morgue had taken place when everyone first found out about the Slayer's tumultuous death. The Watcher had passed out after getting nice and sloshed, leaving the vampire plenty of time to sneak out unnoticed. Silently, Spike had clung to the shadows, making his way quickly through the dead streets of Sunnydale, until he managed to make it to his destination, the Sunnydale Memorial Hospital's morgue.

Slipping into the tiled room unseen, Spike had started the investigation by opening every steel drawer of the large filing cabinets that housed the dead of Sunnydale. About six or seven Jane and John Doe's later, the vampire finally found the one he had been looking for. The chemical petrification remains of the would-be Slayer made Spike want to wretch, but he powered through it. His powerful nose pushed pass the chemical perfume that laced the body's natural odor. It screamed of decay. A decay that had started weeks before this girl was ever found, and weeks before Buffy had gone missing. This girl was already dead. The files may say otherwise, but the scent didn't lie. A satisfied smirk resumed its place on Spike's handsome features. He was about to close up his visit to the morgue when he felt his grandsire lurking behind him. Turning Spike's attention to the shadows created by the shelves of the dead and scoffed, "Don't insult me by lurking about. I know you're there. You know I know you're there. The only person that could be possibly served by this brooding shadows bit is gone."

Angel stormed out of the shadows ready to confront his former friend before he was forced backwards by the scent of chemical rot. Enjoying the sight of his grandsire turning a unique shade of green, Spike was loathed to close the drawer that held the would-be Buffy. However, one look at Angel's eyes flashing amber, Spike sighed dramatically, slamming the drawer shut. Now able to regain his words Angel snarled, "You shouldn't be here." The Watcher had called Angel after he had verified the identity of the body.

Still smug from the discovery, Spike cocked his head to the side giving his best _I don't care_ expression. The bleached vampire smirked lazily, "A bloke can't pay his respects?" He would not give Angel the satisfaction of knowing that this corpse wasn't her. "You know, a vampire of your stature should be able to muddle through a little decay. I am not trying to make you feel bad. But you should have already handled this."

The cold dry laugh that reminded Spike of Angelus rattled through Angel, giving reminder to all who he was now and forever. "Paying your respects? Come on, you're not fooling me." Angel grabbed Spike and threw him against the pale green wall. Before Spike could regroup, Angel stood over him, holding him by his throat, "Figures, you would be more apt to dance on her grave after all the times she kicked your sorry ass. Let's face it Spike, you have no right to be here."

"Let go of me. I didn't kill her, mate."

By all logic Angel was right. Spike should not be paying anything to the Slayer besides insults rejoicing in her death. Only he couldn't. Spike had tried to chalk-up his strange reaction to the fact that she wasn't really dead, but even for the fraction of a second where he believed the story was true, he found no satisfaction. Joy was nowhere to be found in Spike's heart on a good day, but he would expect to be at least relieved. Instead, Spike felt like he had betrayed his sense of duty to his kind. The peculiar oppressive feeling of grief for another in Spike was a strange, alien sensation, and for some reason he could not shake it. It turned Angel's simple assessment of his and Buffy's relationship from two mortal enemies into the wanting of something Spike could not yet define.

Angel did drop Spike, but only long enough make a strike to the left side of his head.

Spike deflected the jab. "Right, then. I suppose you're right about that mate; I shouldn't be here. Not like you. All you did was to try and destroy her and the entire world along with it. Then as icing on the cake you become all soulful again just to leave her completely lost and alone. Now that just screams, _I have the right to brood over her carcass now that she's gone_. It's funny, I wonder if you could have saved her, if only you were here? But, my apologies, I'll be going now." Spike turned to leave but could not. His feet refused to move more than two feet from his grandsire and his mouth refused to stop talking. "You know what? No. You single handedly caused the Slayer more suffering than I could have ever hoped to and you say I have no right to be here. Why don't you bugger off back to LA. After all, breaking hearts and leaving them behind is what you do best." It was the sight of Angel, looking like a wounded puppy as he stared forlornly at what he imagined was Buffy's dead body, that prompted Spike's harsh words and inflamed his hatred for the vampire a with a soul. Whether it was Angelus or Angel all he could ever do was break people's hearts, like Drusilla and Buffy and leave it for others to make them whole.

Spike's comment had sent Angel into a rage forcing him to strike out against him with a large, meaty fist. Reacting before thinking Spike hit back. He laughed as the hit connected with a loud crunch to Angel's jaw. Amazed by the chip not firing back Spike shouted, "I can hurt Demons you know!" Confused by Spike's reaction, Angel was, for a moment, caught off guard as a month's worth of suppressed rage and violence came flying out of Spike. With fist flying and huge jumps and kicks, mimicking a scene from a Jackie Chan movie, the two immortals were locked in a battle that trashed the morgue. After a long moment of fighting, Angel had finally had enough. "That's it, I can't do this anymore. You want to fight we will fight, but not here and not now. What I did to Buffy was wrong, but it was an accident, what you did to her was direct and purposeful. You have no place here. We have no place here."

For once Spike quieted as Angel left, leaving Spike with a new found understanding that he had previously not held. He decided to go back to the Watcher's place with his newfound knowledge.

A little over a week had passed since Angel and Spike's battle of wills altercation, and as Spike observed the Scooby gang in action, he could not help but notice the blind vendetta held for the Slayer's killer, and when he did, he carried with him a sense of satisfying amusement. He watched the members of the groupie do-gooders race about following bad leads, one after another, all the while smiling and nodding on cue and using phrases like, "You betcha" and "Keep that anger with you, it will get you through it." Spike was watching it all, as if it were a bad soap opera, and just like a bad soap opera, he could not get enough of it. Spike would even go about mocking the grief-stricken sidekicks before a moments sympathy would plague him.

It had been during one of those such moments that Spike had offered to help Willow dig through the police reports. For a second, Spike was showing signs of empathy as he asked Willow what she was looking for. He did for a moment, wonder if he should tell the Slayer's best friend once more, that tomorrow they would be burying the wrong girl. The moment quickly fluttered away as the shrugging Spike assumed his pleas would once again fall on deaf ears, so he decided to listen to Willow explain the methodology of her research and discovery. Emotionally exhausted, Willow said, "We're looking for something that might be off about the murder." Spike nodded with a quiet sense of understanding and Willow went over to the kitchen to brew some tea.

Willow, the Red Witch, hadn't gone back to her dorm since she found out about Buffy's demise. She had been playing the couch surfing game, which had landed her somewhere between Giles' townhouse and occasionally Xander's basement, and when she felt brave enough, Tara's room, which was located in a wiccan boarding house. This was quickly becoming Willow's new favorite shelter. To say that the young Wicca known as Tara McClain had captured Willow's attention was putting it mildly. In Willow's mind, Tara made her heart skip two beats at a time, all while slowly taking her breath away on more than one occasion. When she spoke it was as if she had to catch the words from the back of her throat and pull them out one by one. The very sight and sound of Tara gave her warm tinkles all over.

Meanwhile Giles gulped down his second glass of scotch as he closed another less than helpful demonology textbook. This was all going entirely too slow for him. From what Angel had told the Watcher the local demon hubs have been all but shut down, causing the usual methods of collecting information from the underworld to be effectively useless. Giles was about to ask if either Willow or Spike had found anything useful when his door swung open.

The swish of wind blowing from the door opening had turn the trio's attention to Angel, dragging behind him a grumbling Xander to the flat by his shirt collar with Anya following at his heels. "What the bloody hell is happening?" Giles asked, studying the black and blue face of Xander Harris carefully.

Angel snarled, "Giles I can't do my job if he is trying to do my job. I am not saving him again. He is going around fighting every demon he can find saying, 'I know you did it. You killed my friend.' I do not need to tell you what happened after that, do I?"

Anya crouched beside her boyfriend, "Stop it! It's not his fault that he is so breakable." She carefully and lovingly caressed the small, unseemly bruises on her lover's face.

Xander scrambled to his feet, pushing away his girlfriend. Outrage consumed the self-proclaimed Shaggy of the gang of the Scooby's. "I'm in your way, that's rich coming from you dead boy!" Bravely he stood in front of Angel, toe to toe.

Giles sighed, cleaning his glasses before taking another swig of his scotch. The Watcher huffed out his disapproval, "Xander be reasonable. You say you want to find Buffy's killer and you say he is an oversized ego attached to a heartless demon. Well who better to deal with the dead and heartless than one of their own?"

"I have a heart. I have feelings. I am feeling them right now. I mean, do I look like I am doing this for heartless reasons? I could have let _banana boy_ die, but no I am not a heartless demon."

Spike saunters over with a self-promoting sense of understanding, "Its okay big guy, you get used to the feeling of distain from these people. They love you, they hate you, all depending on what is going on. By the way, you don't have a heart, you have a soul. Kind of the same, but different. Keep that in mind the next time you monologue."

Angel had liked Xander the least out of Buffy's friends. Not that he held any of them in high regard. He reminisced to himself of the time of his youth compared the youth of today. They speak no French, Latin, or German. In fact, they barely speak English. Not to mention the luxuries they enjoy versus what he had witnessed through time. Though, in the old days, Angel had tried to find some redeemable qualities in all his ex-girlfriend's close friends, but Xander had a nasty way of getting under the 247-year-old vampire's skin. He tried so hard to play nice with the boy for Buffy's sake, but now she was gone. Frustration and anger was incasing Angel's voice as he continued on, "Why don't you step back before I throw you back." The boy had lacked all common sense and stood his ground, refusing cower to Angel's threat.

Willow stepped into the living room from the kitchen entering the conversation as a peacemaker. "Come on guys, this is not doing us any good."

Xander shakes his head, "Tall and broody shows up and we're just supposed to stop and him take over? No! He didn't want to be in Buffy's life. He sure as hell shouldn't be involved in it now."

"Yeah," says Spike, who is once again entering the conversation out of nowhere. "You know what else, I think he might have just had something to do with. I mean what you are doing here anyway. All of a sudden you appear right after Buffy gets killed. Who is to say you didn't just go all Angelus on her after a night of romance. You know, I could see that happening."

Everyone stepped back at the idea even Xander.

"Spike, you are an idiot. I am here because Giles called me here, not to mention if I was Angelus not a one of you would still be breathing. You should know that better than anyone Spike." Fed up, Angel loomed over Xander, "Out of respect for Buffy, I'm gonna tell you one more time. STAY OUT OF MY WAY!"

With self-preservation returning Xander stopped from launching himself at Angel.

Seeing this, Angel could not resist turning the tables. "You know what Xander? I get your anger. I feel your anger, I know where you should put that anger." He looked at Spike with a sly sense of knowing. "Spike when did you get here? Suddenly you are all about helping the merry band of do-gooders that have tried to kill you more than once. I doubt you could have beaten Buffy in a hand-to-hand, but what about when she was already engaged in battle? How easy would it have been for you to bring in reinforcements to help seal the deal? The deal that you could not perform on your own? No, that chip has been eating away at you for so long. You wanted to kill her, but you couldn't, not now even if you tried." The soul-filled vampire rolled his eyes at his bleached blond nemesis. As if he knew what was about to happen, and he did. The easily enraged boy attacked. Xander was moving far too quickly to stop himself. He raced over to Spike and lunged his fist sorely into his left side of Spike's skull. Spike fell backward in complete and utter shock as to how quickly Xander managed to get to him. Spike turned to Angel with a, _you did this on purpose_ look. And Angel just stepped back, answering with a smile of accomplishment, all while Spike pushed Xander back and said, "Listen mate, I do not want to hurt you, but I will."

Xander looked at him and said, "No you won't, and this time no one is going to stop me from letting you have it." He threw his punch but this time Spike was more than prepared and moved backwards. This knocked over Giles spilling the last of the Watcher's scotch. Giles forcefully pushed the boy off of him as he got to his feet, shooting hateful glances between Xander, Spike, and Angel. Through gritted teeth and a loud roared Giles shouted, "Get out before I throw you out." The room went deadly silent as Willow and Xander took the Watcher at his word.

The Red Witch spoke up. "I can't stand this! You all suck so much. Buffy is dead! We are literally putting her in the ground tomorrow. But all of you are, are, just acting like idiots," she cried, trying to find her words. "Everyone just needs to stop! Angel, stop acting like Buffy's death only effects you. Giles, stop drinking. And Xander, stop putting yourself in danger. I really don't want to have to see anyone else I love die." She stormed from the townhouse leaving the men at a loss for words.

The funeral had been the weirdest and saddest experience in Willow Rosenberg's young life. People had flooded in from all over to be at the service of the young slayer. Without warning the simple burial that Joyce had envisioned had turned into a giant three-ring circus. Willow, Joyce, Xander, and Giles had discovered the experience to be far more outreaching than anticipated. The circus, pretending to be a funeral, was exhausting and had little to do with Buffy the person and everything to do with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. With that realization, the people who knew her best, the actual mourners, had been pushed aside and forgotten. The well-wishers remarked on the bravery of the Slayer. One such well-wisher, Jonathan, recited a particularly long, lyrical ballot of William Blake in a folk music arrangement, which forced Willow to separate from the group of tear-stained mourners. Soon the Red Witch found herself wandering around Sunnydale with nowhere to go. She noticed a suffocating mist that clung around the town. The strange mist threatened to turn into rain as Willow searched for a shelter. Living on the Hellmouth her entire life she could count on one hand how many times it actually rained. Yet, as some joke from the _Powers that Be_, Willow was being swept up in a cool misting rain when she had nowhere to go; just as night was slowly starting to approach.

The events at the Watcher's home had stopped Willow from seeking comfort or shelter either at Xander's or Giles' place and she still couldn't bear to go back to her dorm room. With night drifting in, the gloomy rain swept over Willow's feet, she decided to be brave and guide herself to the gothic style building known as the Wiccan Boarding House made of white sandstone with a cheerful purple door. Feverishly she knocked on the purple door hoping the woman with enchanting, smokey-grey eyes would be there. The door opened, revealing the girl Willow was searching for, Tara. Her voice was like a cup of hot tea, calming and warm. "Willow, are you okay?"

Willow choked back a sob. "My best friend's funeral was today." Wordlessly Tara let Willow inside and soon the pair of witches were in Tara's small bedroom.

The good witch handed Willow a towel. Willow's red-rimmed eyes swept over the room lingering on the magical artifacts that stood out among Tara's everyday books and paintings. Willow, with little prompting from Tara, told the story of Buffy with vampires and all. The girls had talked like old friends half the night and a small smile rested on Willow's lips. A realization struck the Red Witch during Tara's story of her failed attempt at contacting the dead. Willow's eyes gave way to a gentle gleam of hope and at the end of Tara's tale Willow blurted out, "I want to do a séance... so I can ask Buffy what happened to her?"

The request startled Tara, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable. Tara stammered "W-w-well s-s-s-séance's are, are dangerous." Tara stuttered, "Sometimes just because ya, call one Spirit up d-d-doesn't mean they wanna talk. And, and sometimes another, another comes in its in place." However, Tara's resolved faltered as she stared into Willow's wet eyes pleading for help.

Willow's voice was a soft sob, "Please… I need to try."

The good witch caressed Willow's cheek as she wiped away a falling tear. The unmistakable hum of power buzzed on Tara's fingertips as they brushed against the soft skin of Willow's face. Tara sweetly agreed, going against her better judgment, "Okay... I know someone who could help but she's very unpleasant and she'll need something to channel your friend's energy."

Willow nodded in agreement, "Great. But we'll have to stop by my dorm first so I can get something of Buffy's." The image of Buffy's silver cross that Angel had given her flickered in Willow's mind as they made their way to her dorm before heading across town to a laundromat called 'Soapy Socks.' Despite the late hour of the night, the laundromat was still open and had people inside, as the two young Wiccans quickly strolled through the double doors of the run down building. A little chime of a bell announced Willow and Tara's arrival to a short, wrinkled, plum-shaped woman. She had smoky dark skin and ghostly white hair. The woman rasped, "Nope, no way, unh-unh, you best take little miss cheesy puff's biscuitty ass out of my establishment this instant before she brings a whole mess of trouble to my door step!" The elderly woman pushed back the two slender girls with all the skill of a NFL linebacker.

Tara tried to comfort the older woman's nerves, "Pl-pl-please Mamma Cee, my, my friend and I need-d-d help contacting a spirit. W-w-we mean no trouble."

Her now milky blue eyes judged Willow. Willow squirmed closer to Tara, as Mamma Cee's appraisal felt oddly intimidating.

Mamma Cee wheezed, "Little girl what you seek isn't here. Now out." She would not waiver on this point. Mamma Cee could smell the degrees of trouble that wafted over the Hellmouth and the Red Witch's scent screamed of an apocalyptic level of shit-storm that said _get the fuck out of town_.

Willow refused to back down. "Buffy was the Slayer, a hero, and she deserves some justice!"

Mamma Cee laughed darkly, "Everybody at one time or another deserves some motherfuckin' justice. Don't mean ya gonna get it." She kept pushing the troublesome girls toward the exit.

Tara closed her eyes, praying to the goddess above she would stop the words about to leave Willow's lips. "Consider it a favor. We'll be in your debt." Willow did not realize the power that those words held as Mamma Cee stopped her pushing.

Mamma Cee was, if nothing else, a businesswoman that dealt in all manner of enterprises. The ancient woman calculated the pros and cons of having two Wiccans indebted to her. There would be no risk with the White Witch, Mamma Cee knew that was certain, but the Red Witch, that gave her pause. An untrained and powerful witch could be very profitable if Mamma Cee put in a little effort and used the Red Witch's talents correctly, it could also be very, very dangerous. The question is, which is more likely? Can she keep the danger to a minimum, can she keep Miss Willow in check? Mama Cee liked her odds. "Yor sure, ya wanna to this? Because I always collect on my debts, baby cakes."

Mamma Cee's was known for making deals that always involved a dangerous promise that clearly benefited the old witch over the debtor. Tara's regret was immediate and Willow's rash slip of the tongue was only worsened by Willow furthering the deal offered to her... "Of course I do! But the debt is mine alone and I'll pay it alone. Tara has nothing to do with it."

Not her first dog and pony show you know, Mamma Cee shook her head. "Your word means nothing to me. It's Ash. I can tell. Either the White Witch is with you and takes on the debt too or off with the both of ya."

Mama Cee was an ancient witch in comparison to the young women. She eagerly waited for a response from the White Witch. Against all the teachings of Tara's grandmother about taking on debts in the supernatural world, the young White Witch agreed to the terms. Mamma Cee took the pair of witches to the back room. The only source of light in the room was from a single white candle on old round table in the center of the room. Studying the table more closely Willow discovered it was an altar of some kind. The table was decorated with a white linen tablecloth and a bowl filled with water in front of the white candle. "Okay chillins, go stand by that alter while I set up everything." Her swollen arthritic finger pointed to the table.

Obediently Willow and Tara stood waiting to begin. Mamma Cee's cryptic voice rang out as she picked up a bag of red brick dust, a white and yellow snake, a bottle of rum, and a shot glass. "Now, I'za gonna warn ya once more, this ain't gonna work, so I am given ya one last chance to back out. Cause once I start there ain't no Jewin' me down and there ain't no way out of the debts."

Willow turned the word over in her mouth. "Jewin'?" Her nose scrunched up at the term.

Mamma Cee rolled her good eye toward heaven, "Yeah, once I start, ya must pay back the debt when I say. So do ya want me to do this or not?" Knowing the answer already Mamma Cee poured the red brick dust in a circle around the alter as Willow gave her a nod in confirmation. Once that part of the ritual was complete she handed the Snake to Tara as she placed a shot glass on the table beside the candle. Next she poured the rum. "Ok, Cheesy Puff, ya got something of the dead girl's?" Willow handed over the cross. Mamma Cee shook her head as she placed the cross in the amber liquor. Finally she took the snake back from Tara and wrapped it around her neck. "Okay chillens, Cheesy Puff, ya stand across from me, but three paces to the right. White Magic ya do the same only three paces to the left. Ya two must be parallel to each other. _Do not_ step _out_ of the circle. The circle protects us from the evil spirits. Now repeat the English part of the chant after me as ya think of the spirit ya want to pass through the veil."

We invoke the Watchtower of the North,

We three call upon our Ancestor that has crossed the veil,

_Nou sipliye Lora to se pou nou pale to a zansèt,_

We invoke the Watchtower of the East,

Give our Ancestor a voice so she might speak to us,

_Nou bay ofrann Lora kite zansèt nou an janbe,_

We invoke the Watchtower of the South,

Give whom has crossed over form so we might see them,

_Nou Lora pou kenbe balans lan,_

We invoke the Watchtower of the West,

The veil is weak, we ask for the girl to push through.

_Lora bay kite ti fi a vini katriyèm._

The three witches chanted as the snake curled and hissed around the length of Mamma Cee. A cool, dead wind rolled through the windowless room blowing out the candle. The one source of light in the room now gone, the snake slithered from Mamma Cee's grasp. It crawled on its belly with purpose, seeking out Willow. The snake was fatter and longer than the Red Witch's arm yet the thing coiled around Willow's leg un-noticed until it started to climb up her torso. Willow panicked, desperately trying to get the snake off. A shrill scream that threaten to break glass escaped Willow's lungs as the snake circled around her neck. The betrayal of Willow's scream had given the snake a chance to force itself between her lips, sliding down her throat. Frantically, Willow clawed with blunt fingernails at her throat, leaving behind little red scratches. Her head grew dizzy as the thing squirmed inside her attempting take hold of her mind. The Red Witch gasped for breath as she fell forward. Tara raced to Willow's side as she writhed on the floor. Lovingly Tara held Willow's head in her lap.

"What did you do?" screamed Tara. It was a demand that Mamma Cee gave a cruel, sickening laugh to.

"Well my young Witch, I told ya. Don't step out of the circle. Remember I told you that you lose your protection out of the circle. Shame really, I truly liked that girl, had great promise that one did.

Willow's thoughts became confused and dizzy. It swam with memories that were not her own. Nevertheless she was forced to harbor the horrifying false memories as if they were her own. The Red Witch saw herself cold and alone in the dark for weeks just waiting for some faceless man to show up. She could feel the ropes digging into her wrists and ankles as they tied her down to an operating table. The faceless man began to cut her open without the aid of drugs. In her head, Willow could hear herself scream; a scream the no one would ever hear. The sounds and images echoed in her mind until everything turned into a shroud of inky blackness.

Mama Cee quickly lit he candle once more and was watching in a sad _I told you so_ stareshaking her head back and forth, muttering, "I thought something like this would happen. I just knew something like this was gonna happen. No refunds, no take backs."

Quietly and without warning Willow's body began to move and stretch in a slithery snake like manner. As it moved, slowly it began stretching and contorting into the upright position. Suddenly Willow's body snapped to its feet thereby breaking Tara's gentle hold over the young Red Witch. Awkwardly now, the body seemed to move freely on its own toward the makeshift alter in the center of the room. Confused, Tara's mouth dropped open as Willow picked up Buffy's cross from the shot glass and tossed it to the ground before taking the shot. Growing more comfortable in Willow's body, the spirit bolted from the laundromat, looking for revenge.

Glancing back at the Red Witch one more time, Mama Cee took a long, hard look at Tara, "That's gonna be a hard thing to get out."

oOoOoOoOo

Big thanks to Andrew'sAmy for her help betaing this chapter. Please review :-) I should have another chapter up soon


	3. Cerberus

**Cerberus**

Chapter Two

Spike stretched out on the stone sarcophagus in his new crypt. Yes, Spike would be the first to admit this place was terribly cliché, but it would be a good place to lay low until the Commandoes were shut down. After all, no one would think of looking for a master vampire in a mausoleum that practically screamed _vampire_. It would be simply written off by the soldiers as too obvious. If that wasn't good enough, it was in the perfect hunting ground, just dead center to everything in Sunnydale. It had an easy access to underground tunnels with a second level that would make a nice den, hidden under the sarcophagus that he was currently napping on. The restful sleep Spike had envisioned, after finding his new home, was interrupted by the familiar scent of vanilla spice. It was a teasing little scent that seemed to scream Slayer. 'Maybe it's not the slayer,' Spike mused. Because the deliciousness of Buffy's scent had been different from all other slayers he had hunted in the past. Certain that the mouthwatering odor had just been a trick of his mind, he refused to open his frosty blue eyes or even breathe an unneeded breath to take in the senses of her now distant memory.

A sound had suddenly started off quiet as a whisper, like the flutter of a moth's wings beating in the damp air. Unfortunately, that now cold, damp air had turned the once joyful fluttering wings of giggle into something slightly more nefarious. A noise had polluted the silence of his crypt and it wasn't long before the giggle became haunting sense of mocking, especially when Spike realized who that giggle belonged to. "No," Spike muttered as the scent and sound combined into a full frontal force from beyond, which had now begun to invade his mind. Struggling now, there was no escaping the repetitive sound of giggles. She was there, somewhere and somehow, she was there. Spike placed his hands over his ears as a 110 lbs. of insanity had crept on top of him, holding him down all the while laughing and breathing vanilla spice. The foreign sensation of the warm vanilla weight continued to press against him, jolting Spike into awareness. In one smooth motion Spike leapt to his feet with his demon vigil in full swing. Poised for an attack his now amber eyes searched for the phantom Slayer who was toying with him, only no one was there. The crypt was the same as before: dusty, silent, and rotting.

Cold, dead, un-needed air pushed from Spike's lungs, jagged and uneven. Shifting back to his human face he frantically searched the crypt once more. 'She had been here,' Spike knew it, but it wasn't possible. In attempt to regain control Spike rationalized, 'Perhaps she was here just a long time ago. Yeah, the smell just lingered a bit and it triggered a memory of her laughing at me.' The lame rationalization fell flat. "I need a drink." Spike muttered aloud.

All the surface hangouts for demons were effectively shut down by the Commandos. By no means did that imply that Sunnydale's demon population was at a lost for places to go. No, there was a whole world underground that flourished if you knew where to look. One of these hangouts had been a little pub, known as Cerberus, nuzzled in the long forgotten catacombs of the pre-industrialized Sunnydale. Cerberus had been exclusively for the local demons of Sunnydale until Willy's Place was shut down. With no other watering holes for the demons that passed through Sunnydale, they went underground to the parts of the Hellmouth where they were not completely welcome. Yes, believe it or not the local demons of Sunnydale were called townies and the transient demons were called tourists. Spike floated somewhere in between, AKA a straggler, since he had been in Sunnydale long enough to be aware of all the local hubs but not long enough to be fully accepted by them.

Bold as brass Spike took a stroll down to the pub. However, he was not alone in his travels; the mocking giggles from his crypt had come along as well. They started up again when he ducked down a narrow crevasse. The sound paused temporarily as the vampire descended to Cerberus. Whipping his head wildly around in the dark of the tunnel, Spike could have sworn he felt a warm breath level on his neck. A note of exasperation mixed with a sense of hope filled Spike's voice, "Very funny, Slayer, but I'm a vampire, I can smell you so come out from wherever you're hiding." At this point, he would have loved to see any physical form, real or imagined, even the pain-in-the-ass Slayer that had been nothing but trouble for the last three years. The giggles had stopped almost as soon as Spike stopped walking. Only to be replaced by Buffy's unique scent. Spike was an unwilling participant in this eerie game of _hide and see_k and was becoming desperate to find the other player. Groaning aloud, Spike attempted to make Buffy feel guilty, "It's not funny to pretend to be dead! So if you are not going to show yourself then go home! This... is just cruel… Not for me. I couldn't care less. I mean for your mum and mates... okay and Peaches. In fact I am fairly certain your watcher is pickling his liver over this as we speak. Good times all around I say." That one line had dissipated the odor, much to Spike's disappointment. He was hoping that she would say something to him or show herself in some way, but she hadn't, so he went back to following the blue arrows.

The arrows were supposed to guide visitors to Cerberus, but after twenty minutes of bumbling around in the dark Spike was certain that his mate Clem had lied to him. Spike stopped in order to get his bearings, looking for the Blue arrows once more, only to have the giggling start up again like an alarm clock. "I told you to sod off!" Spike shouted into darkness.

The crackling roar caused a slender slug demon to crawl into view. The garbled voice blocked out the giggles. "Sorry man, didn't mean to bother you. I'm just trying to get back home without any trouble. My wife is going to pour salt on me if I'm late again."

Spike frowned, "Sorry, wasn't talking to you, mate. Thought I heard this girl down here, that's all."

The slug gave a sympathetic squish that could arguably be a nod of his head, that dipped down thoughtfully, "Oh! I have the same problem with my wife. We fight, and I can't get her out of my head the whole night. She just gets mad about the craziest things, you know? Like it was really my fault that she and her sister look so much alike, who wouldn't mix them up after few shots of goat urine? I mean they literally just split from the same gel sack that afternoon. But I digress, you just need to give your girl some time... Maybe bring her some tasty bone marrow when you come back; demon chicks just love that sort of thing."

Spike couldn't help but laugh, "Afraid that's not gonna work." Soon the well-rehearsed lie came tumbling out, "We have a mutual hatred thing going on."

The slug sighed at the vampire, "How old are you? A hundred, maybe a hundred and two? Take it from someone who's been with the same slug for the last five centuries, the hatred will pass. Just give it sometime. One of the two of you is bound to let it go."

The soft scent of the Slayer crept into the cavern, "Look, I just need a drink to get the bitch out of my head. Save the advice for someone who actually needs it."

Pitying the young vampire the older slug muttered, "Young lovers, no reasoning with them. If you're looking for Cerberus just keep going straight until you get to the three-headed dog, breathing fire. Then go left."

Parting ways with the slug, Spike finally found a fresco of a three-headed dog, breathing fire. Disappointed, Spike yelled, "Could've mentioned it was just a painting." He couldn't help but study the tacky fresco, noting that each head was spewing a different colored flame. It was a code of sorts. The first head pointed upward and breathed a red flame, while the bottom head was directed downward and breathed green flames, but the center head was the most important, Spike believed. It was breathing out blue flames that spelled out the name Cerberus, pointed just to the left toward a piece of drift wood with a door, surrounded with colorful Christmas lights.

Pulling the door open and entering inside; Spike found the withering demon population. The pub was nothing special. It had been made up of two sections: a main floor that had makeshift tables with a scrap metal bar, and a backroom that was declared the kitchen due to the mini-fridge and microwave. Yet every demon in Sunnydale was there. Spike had pushed past fifty or so demons just to get to the flimsy ply-wood table with an uncomfortable plank stretching across the bar, supported by two five gallon buckets stacked on top of themselves as support. Desperately, the micro-chipped vampire looked for a bartender or a waitress so he could order a stiff drink as the chimes of the manic, mocking giggles grew increasingly louder. Consumed by the now never-ending giggles, Spike had not notice Angel in the pub. He had been completely caught off guard as Angel appeared in the seat across from him.

"Peaches. Didn't think this place was your scene anymore." Spike turned to face Angel titling his head to left side in quizzically.

A deep frown stayed on Angel's face. "It never was." He eyed a girl no older than twenty serving drinks to three large reptilian demons. "Didn't think it was yours either."

Spike shrugged passively, "A bloke's gotta drink," determined not to think of or acknowledge the teasing vanilla spice scent permeating his senses, when once again the maddening giggle rang out over the booming roar of demon chatter all crammed together in this one hole in the wall. Franticly, Spike's eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the giggling that had been following him all night long. He narrowed his sights on Angel, as it was he who must be behind it somehow, "Do you hear that!?"

"Do I hear what?" asked Angel as he studied his now wild-eyed grandchild with general concern. But before Angel could inquire further the two vampires were interrupted by an at one time, pretty and young waitress, now a haggard-looking soul who was slowly galloping to them like an old race horse about to be turned into glue. She regarded the two vampires with a plastic smile that stretched over her long, pale, boney face. In an, _oh so cheerful_ voice, the girl repeat her prepared remarks, "Hello boys, I'm Emily. Welcome to Cerberus. I'll be your server tonight. The house specials are O-neg, goat marrow, and pig snort boil in yak's milk." She twisted her long skeletal thin finger around a lock of darkened, purple hair.

Spike studied the girl's glassy chestnut eyes and realized any blood that came from this place would be coming from the drug-addled adolescent in front of him. He pulled out two fifty dollar bills he had stolen from Giles, hoping whatever the girl was on would dull his senses for few hours. "Some O-Neg, cut with whatever is called whisky around here."

"Spike," Angel snarled, outraged.

Shifting her weight nervously as she looked between the bills on the bar and the British vampire giving them to her, she started biting her cracked, blackened lips awkwardly at the two men in front of her. They were handsome in comparison to her normal clients, but house rules must be followed and the two 50 dollar bills were too much for two shots of her blood and whisky on the side. Assuming the worst, Emily explained, "I am afraid I can't let you two drink from the tap… if that's what you want." She looked toward her boss, a red-skinned demon. "If you wanna take it up with Lurch, I am sure you and your friend can make arrangements for…"

Spike gave his best gentle smile before gently reassuring the girl, "Hush now, love, if I wanted something other than a drink, I would not be down here looking for it." Against his normal nature, he surprised himself with a softness toward the fragile girl. "Now go be a lamb and get me my drink."

"Stop." Angel ordered. The girl froze in place, staring at the other vampire confused, "Spike, you are not drinking from her, tap or otherwise. And you shouldn't be standing here offering up your blood like it's a cherry Slurpee."

"Hey, I'm trying to do my job here, butt out." The girl hollered. Spike agreed with the girl, desperately trying to block out the ghostly giggles of the Slayer.

"Don't mind him. He is just brooding about his missing love. I am a desperate vampire in need of a drink, who could just about go anywhere to get one, but I decided to come here. In fact, I may just go insane if I do not get it already. Do you want the bills or not?"

Emily reached for the money, but Angel grabbed her hand, "I'm trying to save your life. Your boss, your friendly, neighborhood demon boss, could care less about you." He was now more frustrated than ever as she took back her hand.

Emily looked somewhere between angry, frustrated, and confused. Most of the time she was not confronted with such a pair. "Let's be clear, a vamp wanting a drink is not unusual, a vamp coming in with his mate, not unusual. But a vamp coming in with his mate in conflict of having a drink, highly unusual." She glanced once again in the direction of Lurch with no success. "Listen I am here to service drinks, do you want one or not?"

Angel grabbed Spike by his neck shoving him face first into the bar. His demon mask on full blast, Angel whispered into his ear, "This is not a game Spike. I am not going to let you drink from some poor desperate girl." The ferocious giggles growing louder with every moment threw Spike off balance making him desperate to get away from them. He squirmed in Angel's grasp while the bar broke under him.

The girl let out a frightened squall, "Lurch!" The red-skinned demon turned around, quickly, studying the situation and resumed his conversation with the customer in front of him and then turned back to Angel, noticing him release the struggling vamp. The British vampire stormed out then, muttering something about curses and brooding do-gooder vamps ruining it for everybody. He continued go on and on under his breath about melodramatic vampires ruining his life and something else about slayers.

Angel put on his best Angelus act and smiled jovially, "No need to fret friend. I'll pay you well for your loss. In fact, why don't you throw in the girl, too? A little waif like this couldn't bring in more than two hundred dollars, I wager. How about I give you three, no, four hundred dollars for the little thing?" The vampire's hold on the girl was loose and uncaring, like a rag doll that has been played with for too long.

The girl screamed again, "God, Lurch, help me, please!" Desperately she struggled against the vampire and started to cry uncontrollably.

Lurch looked over at the girl, _Emily_ he thought her name was. He never paid much attention to the humans who stumbled into his doors, always desperate, always not long for this world. Clicking his long, circular talon on the bar, he addressed the vampire. "Yeah, a night maybe. Giv' me a thousand and I'll throw in some goat marrow for good measure."

Angel let the girl go with a thump as she collapsed to her knees and wailed. Folding his arms Angel gaped at the counter offer, "What's a vampire going to do with goat marrow? And you really can't expect me to believe this little bag of bones brings in a thousand dollars." He hadn't come here to play hero tonight and this was the last place the demon-nappers hadn't raided, according to Angel's sources, so he was hoping to find out more about Buffy's death before sunrise. However, seeing Spike disgruntled and the girl so easily manipulated by the hands of demons had distracted Angel from his goals.

Lurch pondered for a moment and looked into the eyes of the girl on the ground, "Okay, I'll let you take her for six, but if I go any lower I'm losing money." It was a lie and both men knew it, the red-faced demon would take as low three hundred dollars for Emily.

"Lurch," Emily broke in once more. She had survived in this bar for three years and she was the longest human to work at Cerberus, but Lurch didn't care. Emily's heart sank at the reality of what was to happen next. Yes, she was ready for her fate.

Angel made show of the scoff, "Six hundred? Too rich for my blood, you can keep the girl." He gave a long glare at Emily for effect as she sat stone-faced, staring off into nowhere. Believing he made his point to the girl, Angel stormed from the bar, certain he would not be able to gain any useful information tonight.

From outside the bar Angel heard Emily shout, "I quit." The waitress trotted down the cobble stone alley, one of the few that still existed in Sunnydale. "That wasn't funny." Outrage coated Emily's face as her painted black lips thinned when she confronted the vampire.

Barely regarding Emily, Angel shrugged, "It wasn't meant to be." He studied the fresco portrait, debating which tunnel would be the safest bet to take before settling on the red one. Angel began to leave, but the young woman, not satisfied with his answer, grabbed him by his leather jacket.

"I needed that job." Emily surprised herself by stomping her foot like a petulant child. "You might not understand this, being dead and all, but I have a mortgage and kids who need things like food, clothes, and a place to live."

The vampire turned to face the waitress as if she were a glob of old gum on the bottom of his shoe, "Food, clothing, and rent, huh? You know, I am halfway betting there is a sickly grandmother who has a three-legged dog that needs your help, also. Because those stories always bring a tear to my eye." Angel's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, in the very unlikely case that that story is true, you can rest assured that Big and Ugly didn't sell you to me, so you still have your job if you want it. Not sure how long the kids are gonna have a mom, though."

Emily let go of his jacket, "Go fuck yourself!" She was already scheming on the best way to explain why she left. But thinking back on how Lurch's stare was so cold and inherently evil it made her want to catch up with the vampire who retreated down the tunnels. "Wait up, I'm not done with you yet. You come into my place of business and then criticize me doing my job for God only knows what reason! Your friend was right, a bloke needs a drink every now and then and I didn't ask to be saved. You know what else, I'm gonna tell you, like I told that freaky superhero chick: If I wanted some mysterious White Knight on a horse to come rescue me from my miserable life I would rather wait for Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt instead of some queen bee reject, Dracula's wife wanna-be."

Angel stopped his tracks, looking down the narrow tunnels. "A superhero chick?" With little hope, Angel turned to close the gap between him and the girl screaming after him. "Wait a second, say that again."

"What?" Emily, still angry, "Freaky superhero chick, bimbo bitch—"

Angel stopped her mid-sentence. "It was a something about a superhero wanna-be; what was it again…" Angel pauses for a moment longer looking at Emily with sudden interest.

"Freaky superhero, bimbo-chick, bitch?"

"No, not that, the other part. The Dracula's wife wanna-be part. Why do you say that, I mean what made you think she wanted to be Dracula's wife?" Angel was asking in earnest.

Emily was looking at Angel in slight confusion. "Uh, because she was dressed in black, and in a demon-infested vampire hole? I don't know, why?" Puzzled by the vampire's sudden interest in the slayer, she continued, "Yeah a real, live Kung Fu action hero mixed with a little bit of Skipper-meets-Ken's-dark-and-brooding-nemesis type of girl."

"What?"

Angel gazed at Emily as she attempted to explain herself better. "Barbie's little sister, only with kicking and punching action? Hmm, blonde… green eyes. Just to the right of valley girl/cheerleader type," Emily pictured the petite blonde ripping through Lurch's men as if they were paper dolls. The strange girl shouted to Emily to run, however Emily stared at the superhero and her employer simultaneously. Weighing her options, the waitress had snapped into reality and gave a quick refusal. Emily did not need or want to be rescued, but the Kung Fu girl had come into Cerberus as if she had business with Lurch and was handling it.

The slayer had made business that night too slow and Lurch ordered his waitress to go home early so she would not see or overhear what was being said, and likely done, to the slayer.

Angel shook his head, "No, I get it… just, what was she doing here?" He couldn't imagine Buffy even knowing about Cerberus let alone having business in the bar.

The pained expression in the vampire's eyes made Emily feel a tad bit guilty for her earlier outburst, "Don't really know. Skipper just came in here with guns a-blazing, tore up the bar, well not guns, more like blades," Emily was fidgeting with making strange Kung Fu hand gestures when she explained that part. "All the customers like, left, it was a huge mess. We were closed for days after. But you really don't care about the aftermath do you?" Thoughtfully she explained, "I'm guessing her and Lurch had a disagreement about something. Anyway he told me to go home while he cleaned things up, no, _handled things_, that's what he said. He called the girl something, hmm… Slayer, yeah I think it was Slayer. That was a few weeks ago. I haven't seen Skipper since."

_Lurch_. Angel turned the name over in his head, seeing the red-faced demon who so easily sold humans in his employ. Suddenly he wondered how much this demon would have gotten for a dead slayer. A murderous rage was consuming him. Emily slowly backed away.

OoOoOoOoO

Once again thank you to my beta for fixing up this chapter for me.

Hope you all enjoy this chapter flew read and review. I love to know what you guys think :D


	4. Mamma Cee

**Mamma Cee**

**Chapter Three**

Anya and Xander held each other for a moment, bodies still buzzing from their shared orgasms. Between Xander's fruitless fights with the townie demons and his constant concern over the demise of his friend, he had been making love to Anya around the clock. The lovers' bodies entwined in the throes of passion had offered a mere fifteen minutes reprieve from their grief. After the lovemaking was over, the grief had recycled back into a full heart-shattering force of worry and concern, and it was never alone. Grief always returned with its old friend, guilt. The boy's guilt had been born from his overwhelming contentment with almost every aspect of his life. Xander had finally found a niche in construction and, if that wasn't bad enough, he had fallen completely in love with Anya. It seemed so easy in the simple moments of laying in Anya's arms to let go of the awfulness of Buffy's death, and that made him sick. Like he had betrayed his friend.

Anya felt the laziness of the hours pass and the seriousness of the Slayer's death had once again crept into the room. Her mind wandered back to the funeral. Anya found herself turning over the events in her mind, placing all players in their correct spots. Giles was standing in the back of the sanctuary, far from the immediate family and friends, well away from Joyce and her ex-husband Hank, who stood in the front, nearest the mahogany coffin. She and Xander stood near the side next to a large bouquet of lilies. Despite playing the events over in her mind, searching through the faces of all the well wishers dressed in shades of black, there had been no flash of striking red hair signifying Willow's appearance amongst the mass of mourners. Begrudgingly, Anya found herself breaking the warm embrace with a simple question. "Was Willow at the funeral?"

Xander frowned, remembering the dramatic affair with distaste. Untangling himself from his lover's warm embrace, Xander raised himself up in a sitting position, "I didn't see her, but she had to have been there, right?" The truth was Xander had not seen Willow since she stormed out of Giles' townhouse. He had expected Giles and Willow to come and mourn with him and Anya, despite the disagreement of the night before. Sure, Xander had been loathing the scolding he would receive from both of them for his rash behavior, but when he was confronted with Giles alone, he was given something else far worse, cold indifference. After the encounter, Xander had settled in next to the lilies, focusing on the service and not bothering to look for Willow in fear of the same rejection.

Anya shrugged, "Yeah. Probably."

Xander turned over Willow's absence with a newfound concern. Soon, _what ifs_ piled in his mind between lame rationalizations. "She's probably just pissy from last night and just didn't want to sit with us." Willow hadn't stayed with him last night or with Giles and she refused to go back to the room she had shared with Buffy. A sea of hot, molten lad of anxiety sloshed in the pit of Xander's stomach as a very large _what if_came tumbling over the mole-hill piles of rationalization.

Off-handedly, Anya agreed, "You're right. Willow has been unstable lately."

Coolly, Xander tried to tame the boiling lad sea rising in his stomach by saying _oh so calmly_, "Maybe I should call her… You know, to see if she's still pissed off." He leaned over Anya, grabbing the tan phone. Xander dialed both Willow's dorm and home phone. Both times he was greeted by the same, cheerful voicemail message that his friend was unable to get to the phone. Xander's stomach solidified into a big, black, all-consuming ball of panic. Slamming down the phone, Xander bounced from his bed. "Willow's not picking up." Tossing on dirty clothes he let his panic roll out for Anya to see.

Following Xander's lead, Anya put on the crumpled funeral dress from earlier that day. Anya, sorry for bringing up the subject of Willow, now mentioned, "Perhaps Willow and Giles made up and she's there." The ex-demon's tone held an edge of hope for her lover.

Xander nodded, "You're probably right. Why don't you go over there. I'll check her parents' house, and we'll meet at her dorm room."

Anya arrived at Giles' place in close to fifteen minutes, storming inside without knocking. With the flick of a switch the newest member of the Scoobies discovered Joyce's mid-stealthy retreat. The Slayer's mother had crept down stairs with her chic, black Manolo Blahniks clutched firmly in her hands. This was done so the click of her heels on the tiled floors would not awaken Giles. All of Joyce's sneaking was about to be ruined by the strange girl. She vaguely recalled her name was Anya. The light the careless girl had just turned on would certainly awaken Giles and now Joyce would most definitely have to face the watcher.

Anya plastered on a bright, fake smile, noting the other woman's need to escape the townhouse, "Oh, Joyce! Is Willow here?"

The girl's chirpy little voice was unnecessarily loud to Joyce's ears, forcing her to grit her teeth as she growled out a low, "No," for her reply. All Joyce wanted to do was share some company in misery with Rupert after her ex-husband had abandoned her for some little twenty-something at the end of their daughter's funeral. However, the shared misery had led to clothes flying and body parts interlocking in unbelievably pleasurable ways. Though the orgasm had been mind-blowing, Joyce felt the need to escape when Giles had nodded off.

Taking in the Slayer's mother's messy hair and smudged make-up, Anya scowled at the woman's actions, "Oh! You engaged in sexual intercourse with Giles and now you're just sneaking away. That seems very rude. Did he hurt you in some way? Did he fail to give you an orgasm?"

Joyce fumbled for a response to the strange girl's question but only managed to sputter dumbly. After the second 'hmm' that cross Joyce lips Giles had come into the scene, frowning at the ex-demon, "Anya why are you in my flat, harassing my guest?"

Giles smiled a little sadly at Joyce as she fled down the steps awkwardly. Disappointed, he returned his gaze to Anya.

Anya recalled her mission, "Oh, yea. I am looking for Willow. She's not picking up her phone and Xander and I didn't see her at the funeral."

Joyce interjected, "She was at the funeral. She just left after that strange boy started to read William Blake." Sucking in her courage she added, "I have to go. Hank is coming over early tomorrow morning to help me pack up Buffy's things." She turned to face the grey-blue eyes staring down at her, "Call me if you hear anything about Willow?"

Softly he smiled, a pain of loss and regret came over him as Joyce so easily brushed him off, "Of course. Take care, Joyce." With a quick goodbye Joyce vanished from the flat.

Anya, breaking the silence, looked at Giles, "That was weird, right?"

Refusing to indulge in chatter, Giles pressed for more information from the girl in his flat, "What's wrong with Willow?"

Anya sighed, "Most likely nothing, but Xander's all worried about her because she's not picking up the phone, and after the whole Buffy thing…"

The timid tapping from the front door pulled Anya's focus away from Giles. Cautiously, Giles opened the door to find a hippy-ish girl standing in his doorway with big, blue, doe-eyes staring back at him. She whimpered, "You're... Mr. Giles, right?" Wearily Giles stared at the wide-eyed girl.

Giles sensed no danger at the present moment, prompting him to inquire more. "Yes, and this is Anya; who might you be?"

"I'm Tara Maclay," she sputtered out, "and Willow has been possessed by a giant snake spirit. I suppose it could be a demon. But, at this point it doesn't matter, whatever is possessing Willow is running around town in her body! And I don't know how to stop it. Willow said you guys handle this type of stuff all the time so... I thought I would come here, for help. I need help."

Clearly startled by the revelation, Giles began frantically cleaning his glasses as if this would change the newfound reality of Willow's situation. "This way Tara." He ushered the girl into his flat, directing her into the now ever-crowding living room to have a seat. "I don't know where to begin. Willow is now infested with a Snake Demon and is running around Sunnydale," he starts to hem and haw at the idea. "Where did you last see her?"

Tara nervously bit her lip, "Well, welll... I lost track of her around the, the, the woods behind the UC campus, but that was twenty minutes ago, so s-s-s-she could be anywhere by now."

Giles turned to Anya, "Anya, I need you to go find Xander, fill him in on what's going on with Willow. We need to locate her now, Tara, show us on the map here the last place you saw Willow. Tara pointed directly into the mystical Woods. Giles deeply concerned looked at the map. Anya, you and Xander must go to where Willow was last seen and look for some type of clue, anything that may tell us where Willow might have gone." Anya agreed, leaving the flat. He turned back to Tara now, "Now tell me how Willow came to be possessed by this snake?"

Retelling the story of Willow's appearance at the White Witch's building, she summarized the events that followed with as much detail as she could remember. Tara looked up with a soft sob, "This all my fault. I knew going to Mamma Cee was a bad idea but Willow was so upset and I thought it might help her get some closure. Willow so wanted to know what happened to Buffy. I knew better, this is entirely my fault."

Shaking his head, "No, my dear. If this is anyone's fault, it's this Mamma Cee character. She took advantage of both yours and Willow's inexperience. Tell me about this other language used during the ritual."

"It was Haitian... I think. I wish I could tell, tell you more, but I am not, not, noy very knowledgeable in Voodoo practices."

"Yes, well neither am I." The deep creases in Giles's forehead gave way to an even more concerned look. This made Tara nervous and she found herself fidgeting with the hem of her skirt awkwardly as he weighed the truthfulness of her statement. Finally Giles made a decision. "I'm afraid that leaves but one person in this town who is well versed in such magic, so I think we shall have to pay Mama Cee a visit."

Tara and Giles drove to the Little Laundromat of Horrors. The Laundromat was now filled to the roof with customers. Only half of whom were doing laundry. The rest of the sun-starved costumers flitted about, conversing with the bohemian employees of Mamma Cee. Giles and Tara searched for the shriveled, old plum of a woman between the rows of washing machines. It was Tara who spotted the old hag dealing with a frail young woman with cracked lips and ghostly pale skin. The wisp of a girl croaked, "This will let 'em feel the sun again?" Longingly the girl stared at the little vile held between Mamma Cee's fat, wrinkled fingers.

Already the girl imagined the warm embrace of the sun. Mamma Cee frowned at the girl's idiocy. "It ain't no miracle, child. Don't be running in the sun like some little twit thinking you's gots some secret fanger sunscreen. It's just a moment in time kinda thing. Makes you feel alive and warm inside again, but only for little while." Not for the first time that night did Mamma Cee wonder how some vampires managed to make it out of their coffins without staking themselves in the process. Pursing her lips, Mamma Cee explained how to use the potion with a sigh, "Do not drink all this at once. Just two drops in your blood. Now it's best to cut it with human blood, it will last longer that way, but any type of blood will do." The wispy vampire girl handed the hag a bunch of crumbled bills. Counting the bills carefully Mamma Cee handed over the potion. Once the vampire was off Mamma Cee turned her attentions to the watcher and witch. "Child baby, what did I tell you?"

Bravely Tara stood her ground. "We have unfinished business."

Mamma Cee eyed the girl up and down, "We sure nuff do, but I was given you some time to handle your business before coming to work for me."

Tara demanded, "We need help finding Willow!"

Mamma Cee shifted her good brown eye, between the watcher and the witch. "That's the problem with your generation. You don't know what need is. You need food in your stomach and water to quench your thirst and a safe place to lay your head at night. That is whacha need, the rest is whacha want. Now go clean up your house before dragging mud into mine or next time we have this talk, I'll give you a personal and intimate lesson in the differences between needs and wants."

Coolly Giles gave a sardonic clap of his hands as he stepped forward. Gently he pushed Tara aside taking center stage, "That's a nice speech. The whole _needs versus wants_concept was a very dramatic angle. I bet, when you add the pointy hat and black caldron it will be very scary, indeed. But until then, you will need to close the shop, find the spirit you conjured, and release my young friends from their debt."

Mamma Cee belted out a laugh that could make the room shake. "Youssef funny Mr. Darcy, but that is not what I'za need. That is what Yousef need, I ain't doing shit for ya. So go find that damn witch so she can settle her debt. I got no time for foolishness."

Giles spoke as if every word was balanced on a knife's razor edge, "Don't make me go through the effort of actually threatening you. It's tedious all the way around."

All the mirth was gone from Mamma Cee's mannerisms as she detected a level of condescension laced in the watcher's threat. Her milky-blue and good, brown eyes both narrowed in the direction of the Watcher. Suddenly Giles felt very cold under the shriveled woman's gaze. Spitting vulgarly, Mamma rasped, "Don't fuck with me Ripper. I see you."

A little too confidently Giles made his next attack in the battle of wits. "Good, then-"

Mamma Cee interrupted Giles with a snap of her swollen arthritic fingers. The clicking sound emptied the Laundromat. "No Ripper. You misunderstand. I. See. You." Her eyes could reflect the youngest of Ripper's victims. "Such a sweet thing she was… So cute with that curly brown hair and dimples! She's a dead ringer for that Pepsi girl on the TV, ya know. You and Ethan, so young, and wanted so much. Whose suggestion was it, usin' that poor dockworker's little child, you or Ethan? Don't really matter none now… both ya are goanna pay." Her good eye was like a black hole, sucking Giles in. "Daddy found you right? You were all slobberin' drunk, in an old a crack house. Do ya remember what he said?" Soon Mamma Cee's Bayou twang shifted and morphed into mimicry of the poor dockworker, Joe, whose daughter was murdered by Giles and Ethan. "Bloody hell, you smell like shit and piss."

The gruff, guttural sound of the cockney voice drove Giles backward in time when he, too, was barely twenty. The memory of the girl's death was etched inside his mind forever. As soon as the girl's blood hit the pentagram young Giles had regretted his actions. It had taken three days for the high, dark feeling of the black magic invoked by the Ethan's spell to wear off and when it did, young Giles found he was deep within a drug den. With no other place to go, he squatted in the den, while drowning his regrets with cheap liquor and drugs.

One day a burly man, twice the size of Giles, found him sleeping on the floor next to a drunkard who had only recently drowned in his own vomit, not noticing how Giles opened his eyes. Giles and Ethan parted ways after the death of Pepsi girl, leaving Giles alone to face the consequences. Even coming off the intoxication, Giles knew what he had done was wrong and was staring up into the face of Joe, the Burly dock worker who's big brown eyes and mass of curls right away gave clue as to the young girl's father. Certain that the dockworker was going to end his life, he scrambled to his feet, determined not to die on his back. It did no good. No sooner had Ripper pull himself up, did the dock worker throw him across the room, landing him on a pile of rubble from an old chimney long gone. Still enraged, the dockworker landed on top on him with all the fury of a man who had lost his one and only child. He grabbed hold of Ripper's neck and began squeezing the life from the evil that he once called Rupert.

Staring back into the desperate eyes of the dockworker, Ripper recognized Joe. They stopped. No, Joe was not the same man as Ripper. He would not kill this pitiful creature. Instead Joe gathered what was left of his heart and decided he would keep it safe, fractured but safe, holding tightly to the now sweet memory of what was left of his girl. The dock worker mournfully muttered, 'Bloody hell, you smell like shit and piss.' Ripper was now gone, and awkwardly the young Rupert retuned to life and stammered out an apology, but it had only served to cause a bellowing, humorless laugh from the dockworker's lungs. Tearfully, he yelled, 'This boy is the one who killed my Molly. Just some forlorn creature, that smells of shit and piss.' The dockworker had planned to strangle the Rippers until no more breath pass between his lips, but the pitiful boy, crumbling on the floor, begging for forgiveness, had not seem worth it. 'I'm no bloody priest, mate, I sure as hell ain't yours. For the love of God, I ain't your priest…' Joe left in utter silence.

A wicked cackle brought Giles back into the present. Mamma Cee's maroon lips sagged into a smiled. "It ain't ever gonna wash off. Don't matter if you wear tweed or rags you still be same boy stinkin' of shit and piss. Now, off with you. Do the world a favor and swallow a bullet."

Giles would be lying if he said he hadn't considered the possibility of ending it after Molly's death. Now the suggestion from the crude woman had only infuriated the watcher. He knew his past and that is where it was going to stay. He had a charge to take care of and he would not be swayed otherwise. Willow would not end-up as one of the many bodies littering the Watcher's life. Giles sneered, "You say you see me. Fine I'm willing to buy that. However if you see me as well as you think you do, then there is no reason we should be having this discussion. You will remove the spirit that is holding Willow Rosenberg hostage. You will release both Willow and Tara from their debt."

The humor returned to Mamma Cee's voice, "Okay Mr. Darcy, I am too old and too tired to fight with you over this. I will find your other daughter for you but I can't release the debt. The Lora will not accept it. Just won't."


	5. Little Boxes

**The Boxes**

**Chapter Four**

Cerberus had emptied in a matter of minutes after Angel stalked back into the bar with nothing but absolute rage fueling his attack on the nine-foot tall, brick red demon Lurch.

Emily had mustered up the last of her courage following Angel back into Cerberus. She pushed past the demons and vampires desperately barreling out of the humble bar. Before, when the punk rock waitress had born witness to Angel's ruthless rampage of fists and fangs, she had simply assumed that Lurch, with his yellow hooked claws, would just make quick work of the vampire. Engrossed by the spectacle of Angel's vengeful battle, Emily picked up a five-gallon bucket turning it upside down and placing it out of the way of the scuffle so she could sit back and watch the fight play out like some action movie from Quentin Tarantino. Her vast imagination even allowed for a musical sound track to play in her head, choreographing the fight scene. Soon every punch or high kick was performed perfectly in time to a thrum of a guitar or a breathy moan of Kurt Cobain singing _Lake of Fire_. It was all terribly funny for her when Lurch psychically took a cue from the song—_bitten by a dog with a rabid tooth_—stabbing his shark like teeth into Angel's shoulder blade.

The vampire retaliated with a kick to the large demon's knee.

Lurch howled madly as his bone made a nasty crunchy sound, the leg bent in an unnatural angle, even for a demon.

For a second Emily considered getting popcorn, when finally one of Angel's cutting blow's connected with a soft spot on Lurch, shattering his ribs. The demon staggered backward against the stone wall as yellow blood oozed from his open wounds. 'Strange,' Emily thought as Lurch called for a truce. Ready to rip off Lurch's head, Angel's hands wrapped around his neck, still poised for the action in case Lurch tried to get away. With a venomous snarl Angel roared, "I'm goanna kill you, let's be clear about that. But how long I take to do that depends solely on you. You're gonna tell me why Buffy was down here and what you did to her! Now if I like your answers, I'll make it quick. If I don't, well let's just say I don't have any moral qualms torturing demons."

Lurch's black eyes widened, unsure of what to say. He finally garbled out, "The Slayer? But I—" Certain that the next words out of the demon would be a denial, Angel slammed his head into the wall behind him. Moaning Lurch started again, "Okay, okay, let's be reasonable about all this. I got hatchlings relying on me." The vampire's only reply to this subject was another crash of Lurch's large head into the now dented wall behind him. Lurch shakes his head, "Fine, I get it. You want to know about the Slayer. But I didn't kill her. Sure, she came down here, wanted to know about them nappers comin for you fuckin' surface folk."

The vampire threw Lurch into the plywood bar, destroying it in one simple motion. He picked up a piece of jagged scrap metal used to hold the plywood together. Threateningly, Angel crouched on the ground beside Lurch, using the jagged metal as a crude knife, sliding against his large chest teasingly. "Lurchy, Lurchy, Lurchy. Why do I get this nasty feeling in my gut that you're lying to me?" Lurch started to sneer but Angel cut him off by putting a little pressure behind his make shift knife before he asked, "Wonder how much muscle it would take to hack off your arm using this?"

Lurch's throat went dry, deciding there was no way to color around his part in all this nasty Slayer business. He coughed out his story, "I like to think I have a certain level of respect for them slayers who manage to make it as long as she had. She leaves me alone, I leave her alone, no big deal. Just so we're clear about the situation."

"I'm getting bored Lurch. Don't make me entertain myself." Angel stabbed the make shift knife into Lurch, twisting it around to emphasis his point.

Screaming in pain Lurch starts talking faster. "Just so you know I'm not proud of what I do. Got it? Okay. About the Slayer. She wanted to know about them nappers. Somehow she got it into her pretty little head I was some god damn Uncle Tom of the demon world. Rattin' out my brothers and sisters to them nappers for personal gain. Well she was wrong… mostly. I didn't do it for money or riches." Angel removed the make shift knife and was about to plunge it into another part of Lurch's body when the demon choked out a, "Please, you asked. Just let me explain everything." Angel nodded his agreement, "Them nappers took my hatchlings and killed my mate, Zelay. My hatchlings all I got left after Zelay…. Them nappers would've played their little games with them... Couldn't let them. So I told them nappers things for my hatchlings safety... like where demons would hide out, which clans were the strongest." Lurch tried to read Angel's face still uncertain of what he wanted to find from him. All the demon knew was that he hadn't found it yet, so he went on with the story. "Well the Slayer had some bug up her ass about them nappers. Guessin' it had somethin' to do with what they did to her pet vampire... That blonde guy that was with you earlier. S'upose you know about that stuff already. Okay... well she trashed my place, asked few questions, and left."

Angel did not like the summary of events with the knife poised to Lurch's throat he narrowed his eyes, roaring lowly, "I want to know what you did to her."

Lurch swallowed hard as he rasped out his reply, "Technically not a god damn thing. But I told them nappers, the slayer was coming for them. Then I read the slayer's obituary. Then I realized somethin' that just hadn't settle in until now... Nobody's safe. If they're takin' slayers... I mean them bitches should be playin' on the same side, right? What hope is there for my hatchlings? They are already gone from me. My mate is dead so please end it. Before they get me, too."

Carefully Angel weighed the story in his head. It wasn't the first time he heard about these nappers. They had cleared the town out of most of the demon inhabitants. In fact he recalled Giles mentioning the group when he had inquired about Spike's presence at the Watcher's apartment when he first got to town. The only burning question in Angel's head, 'Would a group of humans be able to kill Buffy?' Even when Angel found himself denying it, Spike's recent de-fanging popped into his head. Angel would never have guessed Spike would have been captured by demon hunters. "Where do you contact these nappers?"

Lurch knew nothing else and wished the vampire would just get on with it, "Just kill me already."

Emily jumped from out of nowhere toppling over her bucket. "Not until you tell your faithful waitress the combination to the safe in the back." It was clear to the waitress no matter what Angel did or did not do, Lurch would not see sunrise. When Lurch was gone Emily's job would really be no more. In that dawning realization all Emily could think of was how to feed her children and how to keep a roof over their head.

Angel turned to the waitress, "Don't help. Now back to our conversation. Where do you meet these napper guys?"

Lurch explain between wheezing breathes, "I would love to see those nappers die for what they did to my Zelay and hatchlings but they found me in different places each time. Always heavily armed with lots of back up."

"Okay then." a simple nod of Angels head concluded the conversation. The make shift knife was tossed aside as Angel quickly snapped Lurch's neck.

Emily narrowed her chestnut eyes placing her hands on her boney hips. "You couldn't get the combination first. I would split the money with you."

The vampire rolled his eyes at the waitress, "Get a blow torch."

After an hour of ambling through the tunnels of underground Sunnydale Angel finally managed to make it back to the surface. He needed to find out more about these _nappers_. Much to Angel's dismay, the only person in town that had the inside scoop on these nappers was his least favorite relative-Spike. A couple of hours still remained until sunrise. Perhaps Angel could find Spike and make him talk before dawn.

Little did Angel know that Spike was being driven mad and enraged by giggles. Giggles that seemed to take a great pleasure in haunting him all over Sunnydale. Many times since leaving Cerberus, Spike tried to rid himself of the teasing sounds, but he found nothing to banish them. Even when there was a fraction of a moment that Spike was able to find silence, the giggles would start up again in no time at all, and often during the strangest of times. 'Maybe they weren't so strange,' Spike speculated, thinking of the Slayer's ability to ruin his fun. The giggles tended to come whenever Spike was about to cause some trouble in his limited capability. They would seem to dance in the moist air with light mockery, rolling down his skin like some holy water. Instantly throwing him off his game and stopping him from robbing folks or flirting with tasty co-eds. 'Even when she's not bloody here, she still loves to screw with me. Crazy bint.' Spike roared, kicking a rock as he made his way around Sunnydale's streets.

The gnawing giggles were like a cruel reminder of all the vampire's failures over the last few years. His failure to deliver the Slayer's broken and dead body to his lover and sire, Drusilla. Then Angelus was able to break free and in the process steal his girl from him. All leading Spike to making a truce with the Slayer. One that caused him to flee the town with the Slayer still breathing. Spike couldn't even stay away from this blasted town that seemed to love to crush him. No, he had to come back and claim a magical ring and the Slayer's head. Both of which he failed to do, too, resulting to his recent capture by a group of human soldiers. It was very humiliating and all of it was in those fluttering little laughs.

Despite the fact that Spike was half-mad over the sound, he much preferred it over the odor of strawberry-vanilla spice that the vampire couldn't get a handle on. It hadn't dissipated once since leaving Cerberus. In fact, the sweet scent clung to him harder every time he ran from it. Whenever Spike would inhale the smell even just a bit, it would pull up all the memories he didn't want to think about.

That time he and Buffy fought in the sun earlier that year. The sight of her under the soft sunlight, rejected once again by another man made him soften up to her. The fight had been fun for them and ended with a stalemate, neither of them ending up dead. The simple memory filled him up with a sludge of regret.

Finally the scent cruelly asking in Buffy's mocking voice, _Why won't you help me?_ The question would send his temper in a boil. "Stop it!" A roar escaped Spike's lips while he staked a slow-witted newborn vampire. Yes, he was the only one who knew the girl in Buffy's grave wasn't the slayer, making the funeral into a lie.

Before the jabs of laughter and perfume, Spike found it all funny and fully expected Buffy to show up to her own funeral like nothing was the matter. Only he had gone by the grave to see the mountain of flowers realizing she hadn't shown up at the affair. Still it was all laughable as Spike found himself studying the grand bouquets of flowers covering the Slayer's headstone. Most of which the girl would've hated. 'It was perfectly fitting,' Spike thought with a dry laugh in is throat, laying down a stolen sunflower at the grave, 'A big show for a girl no one knew.'

Now, as the scent threatened to choke Spike, the situation wasn't as funny. Moaning into the empty alley behind the Bronze, "This isn't fair. This is Angel's gig! Come on, who does the sodding White Knight routine better than him? " He stated, earning him strange glances from passers-by. He slumped against the brick wall behind the Bronze. Carelessly, he lit a cigarette just so that the musty dry smoke would mask the Slayer's scent. 'You just had to vanish, didn't you? You couldn't stick around and keep being the sodding pain in my arse. No, you had to go and disappear on me, didn't you?' He took a deep drag off the cigarette, studying his surroundings, his blue eyes fixed on the dumpster. 'She's not dead,' Spike told himself as he launched to his feet suddenly and reasonably angry over the situation. 'Bloody hell you couldn't disappear before I started to...' The cigarette nearly came tumbling out of his mouth, his jaw dropped at his train of thought. "No, no, no." Spike leapt to his feet running hands through his hair again. In a last attempt to save his sanity, he rationalized. 'Her laugh, her smell; it has to be a spell.' Murderous intent flashed of Spike's demonic eyes shifting from blue to amber in seconds. The last spell that gone awry had been Willow's doing and like now, it had gotten him all gooey for the Slayer. "Willow." the word was more of a snarl as he made his way to the campus.

It had taken no time for Spike to arrive at the UC campus and even less to find Willow's building. The vampire had hoped after the altercation at the Watcher's place that Willow would have gone back to her dorm room instead of surfing the sofas. Spike was not disappointed as he smelled the lavender and rosemary that marked the witch's presence outside her room only a few hours old. With one easy punt of Spike's steel-toed boot, the blue door splintered off its hinges with a loud crackle and thump. 'No, she's not here but maybe there was a clue to where Red went,' Spike wondered. He tore through Willow's half of the room finding nothing.

Reluctantly, Spike crossed over to the emptier side of the room that was littered with boxes all neatly packed up. The scent of Buffy was here not the one that had been following him all night but the one that was three weeks old and fading away. He wondered why Joyce hadn't taken the boxes away yet. Calmly, Spike looked for something out of place among the boxes before he noticed one that had been pulled from the stack. He assumed that the large box had been dragged over to a bare bed by Willow so he decided to peruse the contents by dumping it all out.

At first nothing in the box seemed remotely interesting or spell-worthy except for an antique cigar box, and a little black book that had been a date planner. The little planner had piqued Spike's curiosity. Everyone had figured that Buffy was killed after she fought the Gentlemen in some random attack; but what if that wasn't the case? Spike opened the planner to the day Buffy had vanished. Most of that day's events were scratched out, however two events were not.

The first event was marked for 4:40pm in the afternoon and simply red: _Visit Faith_. In contrast the second event was marked for much later in the night around 11pm. 'Bloody hell Slayer couldn't be bothered to write a proper name. _Meet RF_, Who in the bloody hell is RF? Where was she meeting him?' Spike ripped out the page wondering if RF was human or demon. 'What if he was one of the Commandos? That would fit. She goes to meet one of those soldier boys without tellin' anyone, then the next day a fake body pops up while she...' Images of Buffy in those white cells flooded Spike's mind, the laughter in his head shifted to Buffy's screams and sobs. "She would've escaped if they had her." Spike told the screams now directing his attention back to Willow's spell. Certain that whatever spell Willow had messed up had to come from the old box Spike unceremoniously opened. Carelessly he rifled through the Slayer's treasures while every so often, he paused to read an old love letter or birthday card.

Spike could imagine the Slayer placing every object in the cigar box with reverence until he got to his skull ring with ruby eyes. A ring Spike had used to propose to Buffy during another of Willow's messed-up spell.

Soon the cigar box clattered to the ground as the ring sat in his hand giving him a mocking smile. His own hysterical laugher bounced off the walls while memories of the spell plagued him. The little piece of jewelry made Spike feel uncomfortably human. He debated on throwing it against the wall or crushing it under this boot to rid him of those nagging human emotions of love, loss, and regret. Spike hadn't felt this way since his fledging years. Angelus pounded those types of emotions out of Spike with as much cruelty as the elder vampire could muster. He only felt those for his sire; not all, but certainly the love and the loss. However, Buffy keeping Spike's ring made all those pesky human emotions pop back to the surface.

After a few seconds staring at the ring dumbly, Spike gave up on destroying it. Instead the vampire chose to destroy everything else around him. In a spiraling blur of motion, Spike rendered every piece of furniture into kindling. All the neatly packed boxes were ripped apart with their contents scattered to the floor. The vampire had been about to crush the cigar box with his boot heel when Xander Harris tackled him from behind.

Xander had come to Willow's and Buffy's room in the hopes of finding Willow but found Spike trashing the place. In an act of blind rage, Xander launched himself forward at Spike. Soon he and Spike were on the ground. Xander was raining down heavy and hard punches into the vampire's face. Spike unthinkingly tossed the boy off and made to attack when the electrical impulse from the microchip sent him reeling backwards with his hand clutching his head. Blood leaked from his nose.

Eyes wide, Xander's mouth dropped, never actually seeing the chip work. Stumbling to his feet, he found himself helping Spike up leading him to Willow's bed. "What the hell Spike? You can't kill Buffy anymore so you settle for destroying her stuff." Xander huffed.

Collecting Spike's words as he muttered, "Slayer kept my ring."

Wishing Willow was here Xander shrugged, "So, Buffy kept a gaudy piece of jewelry therefore, you must destroy everything she owned?"

Not for the first time Spike wondered how Xander managed to survive on the Hellmouth before he replied with a sigh, "I gave this to her during Red's Will-Be-Done spell." Looking up from the ring Spike turned his head to the boy sitting beside him. "Why would she keep this?"

Honestly Xander did not know what to say. He pondered for a second, "Got me. I never did understand half of what she did."

The boy's coffee eyes dimmed with a heart shattering sadness as Buffy's scent of sweet vanilla grew stronger in the room. Spike grumbled in one breath, "Buffy's-not-dead!"

"What?" Xander was certain he misheard. Spike never used Buffy's actual name unless it was important and he never just blurted stuff out like a kid that had gotten caught in a lie.

"Okay Captain Peroxide, I'm gonna need you to slow that down and explain what the hell do you mean by _Buffy's not dead_?"

Laughter poured through Spike's skull as he explained everything. "Okay, after Joyce told Rupes about the Slayer's death, I thought it was one big cock up. So I went to the morgue after he passed out. Found out, I was right. The girl that you lot thought was the Slayer, wasn't. She was dead, well before any of this happened!" The laughter became silent at Spike's confession and Buffy's scent seemed to dim.

Xander's mouth opened and closed trying to voice words he couldn't get quite a handle on. Spike had been singing this story since the police found the girl in the alley way but there had been always a sense of mocking behind it. Even now when there was no trace of cruel mirth in Spike's words, Xander had trouble believing him. Quietly Xander found the words he needed. "Even if that were true—I am not saying I believe you because I don't—I'm just saying that in the remote possibility that you're not trying to screw with me and you are telling the truth, Buffy would've been home by now, if she were alive."

"Did a bomb go off or something?" Anya's voice broke through the tension in the room.

"Willow!" Xander jolted from his spot. "Is she at Giles' place?"

"No." Anya, exasperated by her boyfriend, pouted, "Once again Willow's gross incompetence is causing trouble. Only this time it bit her in the ass directly."

"What are you talking about? Is Willow hurt? Is she dead?" Panic filled Xander's voice as he leapt from the mattress.

Anya shrugged, "She got possessed by some demon-y snake-spirit thing. Now she's running around somewhere in the woods. Anyway, can we go home now? My feet hurt from these terrible shoes."

"No, Anya we have to find her." Xander was outraged, "How in the hell did she get possessed?"

Spike looked at the cigar box on the ground and noticed the silver cross that Angel had given Buffy wasn't inside. Spike laughed bitterly, "The bloody little twit did a séance." Spike frowned, "The whelp is right. We need to find Red before this demon does something to her."

Suddenly Anya and Xander looked at each other wondering when Spike became a part of the search party as the vampire sauntered to the doorway. "Well, are you coming?" The vampire asked, deciding to follow Willow's scent across the campus.

If Xander, Anya, or Spike had not gone directly toward the forest perhaps they would have seen Willow slithering toward the graveyard.

Willow would describe the exile from her own body as being similar to her skin being peeled off with fish hooks and being turned inside out all at once. If that wasn't bad enough, the young Witch got to see and experience the tragic end of the Spirit currently holding her body hostage.

The Spirit was a young Beth Masterson, 19 years old before she died but barely a child in the spiritual realm. Beth's only desire was to go home. Willow had unwittingly offered to help the poor girl thinking the spirit was Buffy. It had been too late to take back the offer when Willow realized that spirit wasn't who she said she was.

The Spirit now guided Willow's movements forcing the witch's feet through the forest to an old farmhouse nestled among the mass of trees with vines twisting around the house seemingly holding it in place.

The old farmhouse was the last place Beth remembered being before she died and had believed her body was there. The spirit believed that if she found her body then she could go home, so in Willow's body she entered the house.

The house belonged to Dr. William Bowman, a beloved science teacher for over thirty years until he retired in 1996. For thirty years, he used his classroom as a hunting ground for young women to help with his research. A research that could stop death and the aging process. Certain that every pretty little blonde in class held some sort of missing piece to his never ending experiments, he would select one that he found most useful. Always the careful sort of man, Dr. Bowman always waited two years after his subject graduated from Sunnydale High. During those two years he would stalk them, learning every detail about their lives until he almost burst with desire to perform his experiment on them. Dr. Bowman would imagine the girl in question chained up in his root cellar, unwittingly consuming bioengineered serum spliced with demon DNA. Then he would strap the poor girl down to a table in his basement so he could tinker with her.

Dr. Bowman became more desperate and careless in his older years. In 1996, he found a subject that he wanted, no, needed to have for his study. Harmony Kendall, airhead valley-girl, had captured Dr. Bowman's attentions.

Carelessly, he tried to grab the girl but she pepper-sprayed him, kicking him in the groin before running off, never getting a good look at her attacker's face. Subsequently, Dr. Bowman had retired from the school. His body was becoming frail and more times than not, he would forget steps in his experiments. In fact from his own bad memory, he nearly let his last subject, Beth Masterson, starve to death because he would forget to feed her.

Now long dead, Beth used Willow to find Dr. Bowman sucking air through an oxygen tank lying in bed watching Jeopardy. He was not the faceless man she remembered towering over her while she was strapped to a steel slab. Dr. Bowman was much like his house-falling apart. Only instead of vines growing along the crumbling walls; there were plastic tubes hooking him up to an air tank. For some indescribable reason, the sight of the tiny, wrinkled man among the fluffy pillows and thick blankets, made Beth angry. Then when Beth demanded to know where her body was, Dr. Bowman refused to disclose her body's location. With no further discussion on the matter, Willow's hand removed the tubes from his nose and turned off the oxygen tank.

Soon Willow's feet were guided away from the gasping Dr. Bowman to a holding area in the backyard. The holding area was somewhere between a root cellar and a grave. To Beth's shock and horror, she found the holding area sealed shut. In vain, she tried to open it but found it useless.

Once again, Beth forced Willow's feet to the house and then to the basement where Dr. Bowman worked and stored the remains of his research. Out of all the rooms in the farmhouse, Beth hated the basement most of all. It was where she died strapped to Dr. Bowman's table. Beth tore through the neatly stacked oil drums that were filled with liquefying human remains.

Twenty-five girls but not one was Beth. The girl was about to go into another room in the basement when she heard a call from somewhere far away. Willow's hand tighten around the rusty knob of the reinforced steel door. Beth ignored the cooing call of her name, intent on trying to find her body. Only the voice's insistence on not leaving her alone forced her to leave the house and slither away to a cemetery.

Giles, Tara, and Mamma Cee had gone to Buffy's grave. Mamma Cee ordered Tara to make a circle of brick dust around them so they would be protected from any demons of the Hellmouth while she called for the Spirit. After an hour of chanting from Tara and Mamma Cee, Willow arrived at the scene.

The Spirit seeing Mamma Cee started to cry. "No," Beth shook Willow's head, "I wanna go home."

Giles spoke first, "Buffy… is that you?"

The spirit tilted Willow's head to the side. It replied, "No. I want my body. I wanna go home."

The hag spoke up, "Tell these nice folks your name."

Beth whined out an answer, "Elizabeth… but mom called me Betty. Can I see my mom? I wanna go home but need my body. Is it here?"

Giles begged the spirit, "Elizabeth… you need to let go of Willow."

"NO!" Beth shouted, "She said she wanted to help me."

Mamma Cee interrupted the exchange, "Child baby, yous dead. No amount of her magic can bring ya ass back. Your body is rottin' and decayin' right here. Ya are dead. No, either let go of miss Willow's body willingly or I'll do it all forcible like. Your choice child baby."

The spirit kept sobbing, "I want to go home. It's not fair. I was going to prom and college."

Giles became irate at the girl's sobbing, "Whatever terrible tragedy caused your death is done. It doesn't matter if it's fair. You don't get to rob someone else's life."

The body stood unnaturally still at Giles' words until a large yellow-and-white snake slithered from between Willow's lips. Willow collapsed to her knees looking at Giles, Mamma Cee, and Tara. Suddenly she felt very ill, heaving contents of her stomach on to the grass.

The snake slithered back to Mamma Cee who picked him up loosely and lovingly. "Chillen's I expect both ya'll to be at the Laundromat at dawn. Don't be late." She turned to go home before pausing, looking at Willow who was sobbing on the ground. "Cheesy Puff, you've done nothin' wrong. That man had it commin.' What he was expectin', taken those chillen' and playin' with them like that? Ain't right if you a'x me. The man ought to have suffered more." She muttered leaving the graveyard.

Giles wrapped Willow up in a hug. "Thank god you're okay. Don't ever do anything this stupidly reckless again."

OoOoOoO

Thanks Andrew'sAmy. She been best with this story and super helpful


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